James spoke up before I had a chance to say anything. “I can tell you've got a lot on your mind. Play how it feels.”
I laughed, then tried to put my fingers on the same strings that he had. Then, I tried to play it as he had, with his fingers. Barely any sound came out, even through the amp. He laughed and grabbed a pick from a box. “Here, use this.”
I did a few strokes, pretty gentle at first. James shook his head. “Come on, Allie. Tell me how you really feel.”
I didn't need to be berated by him. I began playing it at random, moving my fingers on the fret and violently strumming. Soon, I was actually making different sounds. Even though they were just random, I seemed to feel better with every note I played. When I realized he was still looking at me, I stopped.
He did a slow clap. “That's the kind of raw emotion we need when we play.” He crossed the distance to me in a moment.
“Just when you play guitar, or everything?” I asked. “You seem to put all of yourself into everything you do.”
I stared into his eyes, losing myself to them for the moment. There was so much in those eyes that I loved, and yet so much that had me apprehensive. I knew so little about the man that was my brother. But, apparently he was falling hard for me.
“It's kind of just how I am,” he said quietly. “All or nothing.”
I moved forward and pressed my lips to him. I loved the way he tasted, the way he felt under
my lips. His chin bore a light stubble that scratched me, but if anything, it only heightened my awareness of him. I wanted to touch every inch of him. To taste every inch of him.
His hand moved to my hair and he pulled hard, forcing me to fall further into him as he took control of the kiss. I snaked my own fingers up his chest, up his neck, to his hair and grabbed as well, pulling just as hard.
His free hand went up the back of my sweater, touching bare skin. His fingers splayed out as if he wanted to touch as much of my skin as possible. I loved the way his hand felt on my back, pushing me into him. As much as I tried to fight it, I loved having him in control in the bedroom.
“You drive me crazy,” he whispered, his words melting into my mouth. “I don't know how you do it, but you do.”
His tongue stroked mine, confident and sure. I moaned slightly, wanting to press my body into his, but there was a guitar in the way. I was surprised we had even been kissing this long with the beautiful instrument between us.
“Help me get this off,” I said, pulling the strap over my head, and fighting with my own limbs in my haste.
“Oh, I'll get you off,” he teased, gently taking the instrument from me. He managed to hold onto it like it wasn't an awkward shape or size. With practiced care, he set it down next to the amp and looked up at me. His eyes were dark and heated and his hair messy from my fingers. Just looking at him like that was foreplay for me.
Without the guitar in the way, he kissed me again. Slower this time, more controlled. I bit at his lower lip, but he easily took the lead of the kiss again, guiding me to where he wanted. I arched into him, my body easily contouring to his.
He reached down, lips still on mine, and undid the button to my jeans. The zipper was next and with a little help, I was soon shimmying out of my jeans. I arched my hips into him, feeling his erection press against my thin panties.
Together, we melted to the floor, still locked together in a slow and sensual kiss. As I slid downward, his hand caught my sweater and pulled up, leaving me with only my bra and panties. James licked his lips like I was the most delicious thing he had ever seen.
Lowering his head, he kissed the tops of my breasts. My head dropped back, loving the way his slight stubble tickled the sensitive skin. I wanted to be marked by his kisses. I put my hands in his hair, loving the silky feeling running through my fingers.
“Here,” he said after a moment, handing me the guitar. “I'm going to teach you how to play.”
“You're going to teach me how to play the guitar now?” I asked. He chuckled, putting me between his legs on the floor and positioning the guitar in my lap. “Now?” I asked again, wiggling my ass against the erection firmly pressed into my backside.
“Shush,” he said firmly, putting his hands over mine and placing them in the correct positions on the guitar. I let him do it, happy to be wrapped up in his arms and legs. I loved how he was warm and hard in all the right places.
“This is a C-Major chord,” he whispered in my ear, pressing my fingers down on the frets and strumming the strings with my hand. The sound came out clear and clean when he helped me. “This one is A-major...”
I strummed this time, shivering with delight. His whisper was hot on my neck and every inch of our skin was touching down the length of my spine. I could feel his excitement pressing hard, seeking entrance.
“Strum from the wrist, not the elbow,” he chastised gently, mimicking a wrist-only motion.
“Looks like something else to me,” I teased, making a circle with my fingers and stroking an imaginary erection using my wrist and not my elbow.
“Shh, we're learning guitar,” he replied, but he pressed his hard length into me at the same time. “Now, for a song. You strum and I'll work the frets.”
He moved his hands under mine so that he was now playing while my hands followed his. He played a simple melody, one I didn't recognize and was far to complex for me to play by myself, but it sounded sexy as hell.
As he worked the strings, I could help but to imagine him working my body the same way. It was difficult to wiggle and search for release as he worked his magic. I could understand why guitarists seemed to always get the girls. This trick would work every time on me.